


All The Things You Tell Yourself

by secondstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mission Fic, Post-SPECTRE, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on. Things change, people leave; it’s a fact of life. Q was well aware of this fact, and yet he never really thought about the possibility of Bond being the one who left. Sure, he was a womaniser, had been “killed” multiple times in the line of duty. But he’d always come back. </p><p>Not this time, though. This time he’d walked away, and he’d taken Q’s pride and joy with him. Well, it had been for Bond, but still. Q wasn’t sure which he was more upset about, the loss of Bond or the loss of the redone Aston Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Things You Tell Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to ionsquare for beta'ing and echojewel for brit-picking!

Life goes on. Things change, people leave; it’s a fact of life. Q was well aware of this fact, and yet he never really thought about the possibility of Bond being the one who left. Sure, he was a womaniser, had been “killed” multiple times in the line of duty. But he’d always come back. 

Not this time, though. This time he’d walked away, and he’d taken Q’s pride and joy with him. Well, it had been for Bond, but still. Q wasn’t sure which he was more upset about, the loss of Bond or the loss of the redone Aston Martin. 

Q liked to joke with Tanner that it was the car, but that was merely because Q hated to think that anyone had that sort of effect on him, let alone that person being none other than Bond. Hell, he’d gone into the field and returned rather unscathed in search for Bond. 

Now, sitting at his desk, Q felt empty. The day to day seemed monotonous, in a way, with Bond gone. The double-oh programme was reinstated, but it wasn’t the same without 007. M kept Q busy with new projects, rebuilding from the ground up, so to speak, but at night when Q was at home he had nothing but time to think. 

He rode the tube and thought about Bond searching for Silva, about his voice in Bond’s ear. When he got home and fed his cats, he thought about how Bond seemed surprised at his outburst about mortgages and cats to feed, as if Q didn’t have his own life, even if that life consisted only of his cats and his lonely flat. 

After months, MI6 righted itself in the aftermath of C and the shitstorm that occurred. Q resurfaced from his self-implemented dungeon stay, in a slightly more light space that he made his own. He pushed his department towards the future, a future that C had been trying to get them to, only Q was in charge of it, and he wouldn’t let it get into the wrong hands. He injected all of his agents with the blood cell tracker, gave them all new earpieces that were practically undetectable, as well as waterproof, and watches similar to the one he’d given Bond. 

Q spent most of his time in R&D, rarely finding himself in the console room, helping the agents in the field. He found it gave him anxiety, but not for the usual reasons. He was always calm under pressure, though he didn’t quite like the adrenaline rush in the field, so it wasn’t that. No, instead, his hands shook because he wanted nothing more than to hear that smug laughter on the other end of the comms. He wanted banter, to see those blue eyes crinkle when he cracked a joke. 

He found that he rarely joked anymore. 

“Stupid,” Q muttered to himself as he paused in the middle of soldering a Geiger counter he’d been working on. He turned around in his swivel chair, stretching his back as he sighed. It was late and his tea had gone cold. “Bollocks.” 

“Q,” a voice said, bringing Q’s attention to the doorway. Q adjusted his glasses, looking quickly away as he set the soldering iron back onto its stand. He cleared his throat, standing as the figure walked into the light. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Bond?” Q asked, making sure to hide his delight. The last thing that James Bond needed was his ego stroked. Q was quite aware just how often James got what he wanted, and Q was among the people James knew he could get anything that he wanted from. Q was well aware of his own weakness for Bond, since it had gotten him in trouble more than once in his short time as Quartermaster. Still, there Bond was, standing before him in one of his bespoke suits that fit him perfectly. Q tried not to mess with his own appearance out of spite, his hands slipping into his pockets in an attempt at being casual he knew he couldn’t accomplish. 

“Need another favour?” 

“Not quite,” James said, giving Q a smile. Q’s face remained stoic in the face of Bond’s charms. He had to at least attempt some form of professionalism, despite the fact that his heart wouldn’t stop beating so fast he knew Bond could probably hear it. “I’ve just come from M’s office, and he suggested that I come down on my own and tell you the news.”

“News?” Q asked, licking his lips. He didn’t dare hope. 

“The fact that I’m back,” James said, tugging on his cuffs. Q’s eyes moved to Bond’s hands to his eyes, which were on Q’s without preamble. He expected a reaction from Q. 

“Back,” Q stated, looking away from him. Instead, he looked to his workstation, which was a bit untidy. He began straightening it up, unsure of what to do. “Did you find retirement boring?” 

“Something like that,” Bond said, standing obscenely and unnecessarily close to Q. 

Q stepped away from him, his eyes closing when he could smell Bond’s cologne. Q would know that smell anywhere, despite trying to forget it. 

“Did he give you an assignment already? I didn’t receive a memo,” Q said, his voice coming out harsher than he’d intended it to. 

“Not yet,” Bond said, raising his eyebrow, but saying nothing as Q balled his fists at his side. “I have to go through a series of tests, standard protocol, you know.”

“Of course,” Q said, still unsure as to why Bond was down in R&D. “Is that all, 007?” 

“Yes, Q,” Bond said, nodding at him before heading out. Once Bond was gone, Q sat down in his chair with his head in his hands. He had just gotten used to the fact that Bond was out of his life, and now he’d walked back into it as if it were nothing. 

-

Q wasn’t dressed when Bond appeared in his flat. He was in pyjama bottoms, but shirtless, with his hair wet after a shower and his cats at his feet, licking up the tea he’d spilled after screaming and dropping his favourite mug on the floor. 

“Damn it, Bond,” Q hissed as he bent over, picking up the shattered pieces of his mug. “Damn you.” 

James helped pick up the pieces as well, having the decency of looking shamed, his face red. He was in a suit, like he normally was, only his jacket was off, showing his suspenders and shoulder holster. Q noticed the jacket in the corner, hanging over his kitchen chair. Q glared at him as he stood. 

“You can’t just break into my flat,” Q said. 

“The door was open,” James said, his hands slipping casually into his suit trousers in a way that Q could only wish to accomplish. 

Q adjusted his specs, eyes glaring. “I highly doubt that, Bond,” Q said, throwing the broken mug into the bin. He grabbed a rag from the kitchen, wiping up the tea before his cats finished it off. He moved them one by one out of the way in vain, holding his breath when James bent over to pick one of them up, holding it close as he pet it.

Q watched, his mouth hanging open momentarily before he went back to the task at hand. “Why are you here?” he asked, finally. He rinsed out the tea-soaked rag, then draped it over the faucet to dry out. He looked down at himself; he was still mostly undressed. 

He felt James’ gaze on him as he walked towards his bedroom to find something more suitable. James followed, leaning against the door frame as Q pulled on a jumper, messing with his hair afterwards. 

“I’m here to say I’m sorry, Q.” 

Q laughed. It wasn’t a particularly loud laugh, or genuine. It was derisive, appalling of Q to laugh as James looked at him with melancholy eyes. Q covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes closing. When he dropped his hand, his face was stoic as ever. 

“Sorry for what, exactly?” Q asked, crossing his arms. They stood close, close enough that Q could see the rise and fall of Bond’s chest, the way his eyes darted from Q’s eyes to his lips. Instinctively, Q licked his lips, breaking eye contact with him. James’ intense gaze was somehow too much for him to handle. 

“For leaving,” James said. 

“I think you’re apologising to the wrong person,” Q stated. “Shouldn’t you be telling M, or Moneypenny--”

“No, I don’t think so,” James whispered, taking another step closer. “I think I’m exactly where I need to be.” Q’s cheeks flushed, despite his best efforts to remain unaffected by Bond’s whims or charms. James was his weakness, after all, and Bond knew it, knew he could exploit it. Anything from helping him disappear, to disobeying M’s orders, to going after him in the field. 

“You rebuilt my car,” James said, his head tilting to the side so that Q would look him in the eye. Q blinked rapidly, swallowing as his lips parted to speak, but James kept going. “You helped me when you didn’t need to, and after I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Q’s stomach did somersaults as he held his breath. He could feel his body shaking, though he wasn’t frightened. 

James reached out a hand, placing it on Q’s shoulder. He looked at it, then back at James. “I’m not wrong, am I? In coming here.” 

“So arrogant,” Q found himself saying, his voice only slightly unsteady. “Presumptuous, as always, Bond.” His hand remained, though his eyes showed his confusion as he looked at Q. “I’m not one of your girls. I’ve a mind to step away--”

Q took a moment, then did just that, taking a step back and letting Bond’s hand fall from him. He adjusted his specss again, hugging his arms to his body. 

“I’d ask you to please not come here,” Q said, finding the strength in his voice once more. “These are my private quarters, and I’d hate to have to move, again.” 

“As you like,” James said. Q couldn’t look at him as he gathered his jacket, and then, without another word, left. Q locked the deadbolt behind him, resting his head against the door while his cats meowed around his feet, rubbing against him. 

-

“Did you hear?” Moneypenny asked. Q looked up from where he sat hunched over his work station. Q’s lips were in a fine line while he tried to suppress the urge to scream that he’d known from the exact moment Bond stepped into the building. 

“Yes,” Q said. 

“I knew he’d come back, Queen and country and all. He’s too good to leave.” Q wanted to roll his eyes, so instead he went back to work. “He’s passed all his tests.”

“The wonder child,” Q murmured, calling Bond a child when he had at least ten or fifteen years on him. “Can do no wrong.” 

“Are you alright?” Moneypenny asked. Q pushed his chair away from his desk, using the swivel casters to glide to another work area, his desk with his laptop open. He had Bond’s file brought up; he’d already been given a new assignment. Q gave one of his technicians the job, letting them outfit Bond under the guise of being busy. 

“I’m fine, Moneypenny,” Q said, giving her a small smile of reassurance that she surely saw right through. She let it slide, though.

“I asked, you know.”

“Asked what?” Q inquired, taking a sip of his tea before sending an email confirmation about a meeting. 

“Why he came back, of course.” 

“And why was that?” Q asked, finally turning around to look at her. She had her hands on her hips, an eyebrow lifted. “What’s that look for?” 

“For a genius, sometimes you aren’t very smart.” 

“Don’t be demeaning, Moneypenny, it doesn’t suit.” Q took another sip of his tea. “Bond came back because he doesn’t like the monotony of civilian life. He can’t function properly without directive, without purpose. As long as he’s alive, he’ll always come back,” Q said with a sigh. 

“You know me so well.”

Q turned around, wide-eyed, to find Bond standing back away from Moneypenny, who looked just as surprised as Q felt at the fact that Bond had just _appeared_ in the room. 

“Moneypenny,” James said as he looked at Q, not breaking eye contact. “Do you mind giving us a moment?” 

“Of course,” Eve said as she headed towards the door. Q turned back around, typing on his computer, hiding his mortification well. The air in the room felt suffocating and Bond’s gaze penetrating. Q jumped when he realised that Bond stood directly behind him, when he felt Bond’s hand on the back of his chair.

“You handed me over to someone else,” Bond said. 

“Yes,” Q said, looking up at Bond for a moment before tearing his gaze away. “I felt like my involvement wasn’t necessary for such a standard mission.” 

“Q,” Bond said, which made Q shiver. Q took his specs off, rubbing at his eyes as he sighed. 

“I won’t be swayed,” Q said, standing, pushing his chair back so that Bond had to take a step back away from him as well. “I won’t -- you used me, 007.” Q shook with quiet rage as he let his emotions bubble up to the surface. “You knew that I would do anything for you, and you exploited that to get exactly what you wanted from me.” 

Q took a moment to calm down, shuffling papers at his desk that didn’t need to be shuffled. He looked to the door, which was closed, then took a sip of his tea while Bond stood there in silence. 

“So if, as Quartermaster, I see it fit to have someone else be your handler for a simple mission, then I think I’m entitled to do that, do you not agree?” Q asked, finally looking Bond in the eye. 

“I didn’t--”

“You didn’t think about the people around you, did you? We’re all pawns to you. Me, Tanner, Moneypenny. We are a means to an end to you. I’m sorry, James,” Q said, the fact that he used Bond’s first name not lost on him. “But I don’t have it in me to let you in again.” 

“I’m not leaving again,” Bond said, as if that was his only bargaining chip. “It was a mistake.” 

“We all have to live with our mistakes,” Q said, dismissing Bond by turning his back to him. 

“Do you consider helping me a mistake?” 

Q’s shoulders sagged, his head shaking. Bond was insufferable and arrogant, but the inflection in his voice was what made Q pause. For the first time, Bond sounded vulnerable. Q turned back around, facing Bond. 

“No,” Q said, crossing his arms once more defensively. “But probably not for the reasons that you’re hoping.” 

“And what do I hope?” Bond asked, taking a step closer. 

“You want me to say that it wasn’t a mistake to help you because you’ve got me in your little pocket,” Q said. “But I’m not.” It was a lie, though Q didn’t want Bond to know that. “I did it because we couldn’t let Spectre win, we couldn’t let C’s measures take effect. Cyber security on that level would have been catastrophic.” 

“Thank you, Q,” Bond said, face dangerously close to his own. “For telling me what I needed to hear.” 

Q closed his eyes, covering his face in his hands as Bond left for his mission. If Q listened in, no one would know. He kept himself on mute the entire time, just to be sure. Bond was back in England within a week, given a few days rest before he was to return. 

Q took a few days off, for himself. It was a rarity, given his chosen field, but M granted it to him as if he knew Q’s reasoning. He pretended that Bond had nothing to do with it, that he could have asked off for any other reason. Q couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a holiday, certainly not since MI6 had been blown up, since he’d been appointed as Quartermaster. He’d barely gotten weekends, or two days off in a row, let alone an actual holiday. 

He stayed in London, but treated himself to shows in the West End, sleeping in, and tinkering on his own gadgets that had very little to do with his work. He drank tea, did a bit of shopping, napped with his cats, actually folded his socks instead of shoving them into the drawer to deal with later. 

After a day and a half, Q was bored. Boredom was what brought him to MI6 in the first place, a young hacker who had too much time on his hands and not enough discipline. He wasn’t innocent, not by a long shot, though he often looked it with the way he dressed. Q was confident in his abilities, knew his capabilities, only with the wisdom to be on the side of the law, and he kept his curiosity at bay. He wasn’t a hacker anymore, but the Quartermaster of MI6. 

So he only hacked when he was bored, and tinkering could only occupy him for a certain amount of time before it became monotonous. Q didn’t necessarily need to hack into MI6, but he did anyways, checking for any back doors. It was his own system, so it was odd that he broke into it, but there he was, in the midst of their system. He wrote down notes, things to change and code that needed to be updated. 

It was rather similar to work, only Q was in pyjamas and on his couch with a cat in his lap, making it difficult to type. A knock on his door made him jump, the unexpected sound even scaring his cat. Holding onto the feline, Roscoe, Q made his way to the door, looking in the eye hole only to find none other than James Bond at his door. Grumbling, Q reluctantly opened the door. 

“Bond,” Q said, holding onto Roscoe as James looked him over. 

“Are you ever dressed?” James asked. He, of course, was in an impeccable navy suit. It went well with Q’s plaid pyjama bottoms. 

“I like to be comfortable when home,” Q stated, opening the door wide enough that Bond could walk in. When he did, Q noted that he had a slight limp, though he didn’t mention it. “What can I do for you, 007?” 

“M said you’d taken a few days off,” James said, looking around, his eyes landing on Q’s work station. “I wanted to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Q scoffed. “Whatever for?”

Bond’s gaze pierced through him, making him look away. “I was worried.”

Q couldn’t help but smile, albeit a little condescendingly, as he walked away, kissing his cat’s head before letting him down. “I’m quite alright. No need to worry.” 

“Good,” James said, looking around the room once more. 

“Would you like some tea?” Q asked, offering as he walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

“If you’re having a cup.”

“Always,” Q said. “I’ll be right back.” He went into his room to grab a jumper, which reminded him it wasn’t the first time that Bond had intruded, forcing him to get dressed despite the fact that it was the middle of the day. Still, Q was barefoot, wearing comfy clothes, and it was his holiday. He was allowed to be comfortable. “Do you ever wear clothes besides suits?” Q asked as he re-emerged. “I often think about you at home, and can’t picture you in anything else.” 

Bond looked at him with a devilish smile, predatory. Q ignored it with a wave of his hand as he poured the boiling water into two mugs, letting the loose leaf tea bags steep. He eyed the clock, an internal reminder to not over steep them, so they wouldn’t turn bitter. 

“I can dress down,” Bond said. “But it’s rare that I get the chance.” 

“I suppose not,” Q said, leaning against the countertop. A silence fell between them, with Bond mostly staring at him while he tried not to bite his lip. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“No,” Bond said. “Honey?” 

“Yes,” Q said, glad he could fidget around his kitchen for a moment instead of thinking about Bond wearing something other than a suit. He got out the honey, then fixed his own tea. He used amber sugar crystals for his own, but watched as Bond stirred in honey. 

“While I was gone,” Bond said, blowing on his tea before sipping it. “I couldn’t help but think about you.” 

Q didn’t want to rise to the bait, but there was little to be done about the matter. Bond wanted to talk, and there wasn’t really a way around it. 

“In what manner?” Q asked, stirring his tea though it was no longer necessary. 

“The fact that you came after me. I remembered, while flying a plane, that Moneypenny told me that you hate flying.” 

“I do,” Q said, drinking his tea. He really didn’t want to talk about going after James. It had been an ordeal, to say the least. He’d made a fool out of himself and Bond had brought a girl, a woman, to his room when Q had been positive that Bond had been interested in him. It was embarrassing. 

“Q--”

“James,” Q said, sighing. “I don’t expect you to understand the sheer amount of paperwork that happened in the aftermath of Spectre and C. That alone will forever be seared into my brain, overshadowing my every turn when I think about going out into the field again. It won’t happen again.”

“I was going to say thank you,” James said. Q stared, floored for a moment, unable to speak because James Bond rarely said thank you. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“Well,” Q said, setting his mug down, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re welcome, I suppose. But don’t expect it to happen again. I’d rather stay safely behind my computer. I didn’t fancy being chased, you see.” 

“I would rather you not be chased, either.” 

“As long as that’s settled,” Q said, smiling. Bond smirked at him, and he couldn’t help but hope. They always bantered so easily, since the first encounter, but Q knew Bond too well. He was all smooth words and silver tongue. He never stayed, his bed grew cold after a night together. Q knew that he wouldn’t survive that. 

“I wanted to explain, about Madeline--”

“There’s really no need,” Q said, clearing his throat. “I’m not, you’re under no professional obligation to me, Bond.” 

“I didn’t mean for it to be professional,” James stated. “The opposite, in fact.” 

“Oh,” Q said, swallowing down a gulp of tea. 

“I was with her,” Bond said, leaning on the counter close to Q, facing him as they held onto their tea. Q thought it rather intimate, to be sure, but he tried not to make it affect him in any way, at least outwardly. Inwardly, he was screaming. “We were off the coast of Spain, in a yacht. I’d stored the Aston away, but that’s besides the point,” he said, smiling. “We were drinking champagne, and I couldn’t think of her. I thought of you, and your cats and mortgage.” 

“Why?” Q asked. Bond sighed, shaking his head. 

“I don’t have an answer for that, except that I also thought of Silva, about something he said to me before I used your distress signal. He spoke of a lot of things, in a roundabout way, but something that stuck with me was him saying that I was alone in the world. I agreed with him at the time, but I don’t anymore. You and Moneypenny showed me that I wasn’t alone, and you were right, that I used you and I shouldn’t have. I should have trusted you, but I didn’t, not really."

“I was there, with Madeline, but I didn’t think of her when I touched her,” Bond said, not looking Q in the eye. “I thought about what it would be like to touch you instead; what it would be like.” Q closed his eyes, frowning. “I knew that you wanted me, that you’d helped me because of it, that I could take the car, that you’d make me disappear.” 

“Bond,” Q said, his voice trembling. “I wouldn’t presume--”

“Is it not true?” Bond asked, turning to look at him once more. “If I asked right now, would you give yourself to me?” 

Q shook his head minutely. “No,” he whispered. “No.” He said the word with more conviction. “I’ve said it before, but I’m not-- I won’t fall to my knees because you raise an eyebrow at me.” 

“I didn’t say that,” James said. 

“You just implied it,” Q hissed. “You spoke of being with Madeline, then thinking of me and you expect me to fall into your arms with the snap of your fingers. I may find you attractive, Bond, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll drop my trousers--”

“I’m sorry,” Bond said, stepping forward, reaching out for Q. As soon as his hands were on Q, he pulled Q close and Q let him. Clinging to Bond’s suit, Q pressed his cheek to his shoulder. 

“You left,” Q whispered. “I went after you, and you left.” 

“I made a mistake,” Bond said, his hand smoothed down Q’s back. “She wasn’t what I wanted, what I needed.” 

“You’re sure?” Q asked, scared for himself as much as he was for Bond. They were so close to a moment of no return. He could be fucking up his entire career, but he wasn’t sure if he actually cared or not. 

“We’d gone through a lot together, and honestly, that forms a bond between two people, but at the end of the day that’s all it was. I was the last person her father talked to, with everything we did together I thought what I’d been feeling was real, like what I had before--”

“Vesper,” Q said. He’d read Bond’s file, knew about his past. James nodded his head, agreeing with Q’s assessment. “But it wasn’t?”

“We didn’t get along,” James said. “Not really. She tried to get into my brain, being a doctor and all.” 

“Right,” Q said, realising that they were still in each other’s arms. Suddenly feeling awkward, he stepped back. Bond let him, though his arms came to rest on Q’s waist. He remained within kissing distance of Q. 

“She left; it was her idea. It was mine to come back to you.”

“To MI6.” 

“To you, first.” 

“Why me?” Q asked. 

“M isn’t the M I knew, the M I trusted. He’s proven himself, now, but my loyalty is with you, with Tanner, though it pains me to say it. I won’t be his puppet, but I’ll be yours. I’ll pull any trigger you ask me to, Q.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Q said, finding it difficult to look at anything except for Bond’s lips. “Except that the reason I helped you against my better judgement, was because I trusted that you knew what you were doing. You’ve proven yourself time and time again to get the job done, and I knew you had England’s best interest at heart.” 

“Always.”

“But what if by you coming back to MI6, this means that one time you won’t come home?” Q asked. “What will I do, then?” 

“It won’t come to that,” James said, leaning forward, so sure of his movements. When his lips brushed across Q’s, he didn’t push James away. “I’ll always come back.” 

“You can’t promise me that,” Q said as James’ fingers carded through Q’s hair. 

“You’ll have to keep me safe, then. If you watch my back, nothing will happen.” 

“You only want a new car,” Q teased as Bond kissed him again. He tried not to think of the consequences. 

“I assure you, that isn’t all that I want,” James said as he stepped closer, pressing their bodies together. “I’d like you for myself.” 

Q’s mind held onto that sentence for a moment, processing it before pressing two fingers against James’ lips, stopping him from kissing him again. 

“Wait,” Q said, looking in James’ eyes. “I know you, James,” Q said as he took a step back. “Too well to know that you want me.” 

“Do you?” James asked. “Do you actually know me? Then tell me, what do I want?” James’ look was intense, his face grave as he dropped his hands from Q’s face and hair. 

“You want to fuck me,” Q said vehemently, though he hadn’t meant it to come out that way. “Then tomorrow you’ll want it to be someone else.” 

“After what I just--” James began, but stopped. “I just told you I left Madeline to come back.” 

“Yes,” Q said, yanking on his hair. “Because you can’t commit, Bond. You can’t be with just one person. That isn’t who you are. You leave a trail of women behind you, most of whom end up dead. Even if you aren’t the one to pull the trigger, it’s true, despite your best efforts.”

“Q--”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Q said, covering his mouth with his hand. “That was rude of me, but you’ve-- fuck, Bond. What exactly are you doing in my flat?” 

James laughed, his hand on Q’s waist, clenched in his jumper; the entire scenario was odd. Q wasn’t quite sure what was happening despite being present for the ordeal. 

“You’re right,” James said, nodding his head as he looked at Q’s lips as he licked them. “You’re absolutely right about everything, as always, Q.” 

“Are you being contrary?” Q asked, his brow furrowed. 

“No,” James said. “I leave a trail of bodies behind me, no matter how hard I try. Sleeping with someone is like them signing a death warrant.” He cupped Q’s face in his hands. “And I want to protect you, keep you alive.” Wide eyed, Q swallowed as Bond kissed his forehead. “If you’ll watch my back, I’ll watch yours. That’s all I can ask.” 

“Of course, Bond,” Q said, the immediate sense of loss as Bond stepped away from him all encompassing. He wasn’t sure what just transpired, the ghost of Bond’s lips still on his own as James walked away from him, touching his own lips before disappearing out the door. 

“What the fuck,” Q said as he locked the deadbolt behind Bond. “What the bloody-- shit!” Q said as he ran into his bedroom, where his phone had been plugged in and charging. He thought about calling Bond, but thought better of it. 

He called Tanner instead. 

“Tanner,” Bill said as he answered the phone. Q said down, adjusting his glasses as he blinked rapidly, trying to decide the best course of action. 

“Tanner, it’s Q.” 

“Q? Are you alright?” 

“Quite,” Q said, holding back a sigh. “I rang, most specifically, to tell you that I’m coming back to work early. Holidays are overrated.” 

“I see,” Bill said, elongating the word ‘see’. “Did Bond stop by, then? Tell you about the mission?”

“The mission?” Q asked, confused. “What mission?”

“Oh, did he not stop by? He’s to go out to Spain, demanded you be his handler, which M told him a firm no on -- I assumed he’d go straight to you.” Q sat down, running his fingers through his hair. That’s all Bond wanted, for Q to do his job and be his handler. Kiss or no, Q had to do his job. “He threw a bit of a tantrum, actually--”

“Thank you, Tanner,” Q said, sitting up straight on his bed; it helped when he needed to speak authoritatively. “I’ll be in straight away.” 

“That isn’t necessary--”

“I don’t want a double-oh going into the field without at least overseeing the mission and outfitting them myself. The trial run didn’t go as I would have liked.”

“See you soon then, Q.” 

“Ta,” Q said. Hanging up, then tossing his phone to the bed as he groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “This is a load of shit,” Q said as he made himself stand up. He needed to shower, get dressed, then prepare Bond for Spain. 

Q walked into headquarters, tablet in hand, with a technician beside him and an assistant behind him, both of whom were talking a mile a minute as they filled him in on everything he’d missed, bringing him up to date on the situation in Spain on his way to M’s office. Moneypenny buzzed him in to M’s office without waiting. Inside, of course, was Bond. 

“Q,” M said without standing. “Hope your holiday was worthwhile.” 

“Immensely,” Q said, looking at M instead of Bond. It was safer that way. 

“Please, sit.” Q sat opposite M, next to Bond, his tablet in his lap with emails popping up by the second. Q felt oddly calm, considering the high stress of his job. 

“I’m sure by now you’ve been debriefed,” M said. “007 and 009 will be going in together in this, undercover.”

“Of course,” Q said, typing everything M said on to his tablet. He could feel Bond’s gaze on him. 

“They’re to be a couple.” Q’s fingers paused as he looked up, catching Bond’s eye and then Mallory’s. 

“Excuse me, sir?” 

“The mark, he’s gay, and he’s having a party at his villa,” Bond said nonchalantly. “009 and I will be blending in.” 

“Ah,” Q said, biting his bottom lip.

“We’re going to implement your new earpieces, to be worn by the agents for the duration of the mission, no exceptions, Bond.” 

“Understood.” 

“Q, who have you assigned to them for this?” 

Q clutched his tablet tight, his heart beating harshly in his chest. “I’ll be overseeing the mission,” Q said, looking down at the tablet and pulling up the quick specs he’d done. “With assistants relieving me when necessary.” 

Bond sat there, smug, playing with the button of his suit. That was exactly what he’d wanted to hear: that Q would be his handler. Q wasn’t sure if he should give in to Bond’s every want, but it helped the mission, and that was all that mattered. 

“Thank you, Q,” M said as a dismissal. 

In the hall, Bond caught up with Q as he walked with his assistant and technician, who had waited for him outside the meeting. 

“Not a word,” Q said, glaring at Bond, who walked like he owned the ground they walked on. In a way, Q wasn’t sure he didn’t, the way he had not only Q, but M and Tanner as well, wrapped around his finger. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Bond said. Q looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing. 

“After you’ve been to medical, come see me.” 

“As you wish,” Bond said, smirking at him, veering down another hallway. Q didn’t speak the rest of the way to his department. 

If anyone was surprised to see him, they didn’t let on. It took about an hour for Bond to show up, with Moneypenny in tow, who delivered a stack of papers to one of Q’s assistants. Q wanted MI6 to go paperless, but with everything from Silva to C, it was proving difficult to do so. 

“What’s that, then?” Q asked Moneypenny instead of paying attention to Bond first, who was much like a puppy who wanted all eyes on him. Q kept an eye on him as he walked around the table of half finished gadgets in Q’s office. 

They’d moved above ground again, finally, with Q feeling safer now that the mess with C was over and done with. He hated moving offices again, but hopefully this time it was for good. Besides, he’d hated having to get to his workplace by boat. 

“M wants a more detailed breakdown of the department’s personnel and their daily tasks.” Q glared at the stack of paperwork; it would take ages for him to do that. Q Branch wasn’t small, but perhaps he could pawn it off to one of his assistants. “There’s a lot of reworking happening, and he wants to make sure we’re operating at our highest calibre after everything that’s happened.” 

“Yes, well,” Q said, sighing, finally looking at Bond. “Alright, Bond. Follow me.” He nodded his goodbye to Moneypenny, would surely have lunch with her later to see exactly what she meant by her remark. What they needed wasn’t a reworking of the hierarchy at MI6 -- they needed stability. The last thing they needed was another shakeup. “Where is 009?” Q asked when they were behind the closed door of his office. 

“He’ll be done, still at medical,” James said, his eyes searching Q’s, hands casually in his pockets, his stance wide as ever while Q took up as little room as possible as he clutched the tablet against his chest. When he realised their differing stances, he straightened up. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Q asked. 

“Yes,” Bond stated plainly, his eyes inscrutable. “Exactly so.” 

“Do please return everything in working order this time,” Q whispered. “Including yourself.” 

“I’ll try my best, Q,” Bond said, leaning forward, their lips ghosting over each other before Q’s hand on Bond’s chest stopped him. 

“The cameras.” 

“You don’t have cameras in your own office, do you?”

Q’s eyes searched Bond’s. He found it incredibly difficult to look away; it was so easy to get lost in them. 

“Of course,” Q said. “They’re just off when I’m in here.” 

“Then--”

Q stepped away from Bond as the door to his office opened, revealing one of his assistants. Q could feel his cheeks redden, though his facial expression remained neutral. 

“Everything’s ready,” the assistant said. 

“Perfect,” Q said, leading the way for Bond to follow. He’d sent the list to be pulled for the mission ahead of himself so that everything would be ready. In the hallway they met up with 009, who easily fell into step with Bond as they were handed their guns, tickets, watches, and earpieces. Q stood aside as his assistant explained everything; he’d been training them so he wouldn’t have to always be the one to hand over the gear, though it was one of his favourite parts. James looked at him as he put the watch on, remembering Q’s quip the last time. There were no jokes, no amusing banter. Q merely stood there, silent, watching Bond with his gear. 

“No car?” Bond asked. Q shook his head. 

“Not this time.”

“Pity,” Bond said as he and 009 left. 

Before going back to his office, Q went to splash water on his face. He was flustered, probably because Bond had tried to kiss him at work. His nerves were shot, and it had little to do with the fact that Bond was about to walk into a probable trap -- his undercover work never went smoothly. By the time he made it to his workstation and put in his own earpiece, Bond and 009 were chatting. The conversation was stilted, barely contained anger would be Q’s best descriptor. He had no idea what had Bond practically growling at 009 already, but he decided to make himself known. 

“Q signing on,” he said. 

“Q,” Bond said at the same time as 009. “How good of you to join us.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Q said, though he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “Let’s make this quick and painless, shall we?” 

Basically, 009 and 007 disliked each other immensely. They rarely worked together, that much was obvious, and the ruse of them being a couple wasn’t going to go over well at all. 

“Honestly, how hard is it for you two to stop squabbling.” They didn’t have the time to mess up, there was only the one chance. They’d landed in Spain, with the party the next night. “It’s unprofessional.” They both had the decency to remain quiet after being reprimanded. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Bond said. They were scoping out the premises. 

“What do you mean?” Q asked, watching through the lens Bond used. He didn’t understand at first, but then he got it: it wouldn’t work. “Shit,” Q said. 

“You see what I see?” Bond asked. 

Q swiveled around in his chair, typing a quick email to Tanner before looking up flights. 

“I do, 007, let me work.” 

Silence fell across the comms. The initial idea that Bond and 009 were to be the couple wouldn’t work. There was a pre-party of sorts at the villa, a small casual dinner affair where only a few guests were invited. Obviously they hadn’t been on the list, since the following day’s party would be the more general one. But there was one distinction in each of the guests that stood out immediately. Q wanted to kick himself that no one had thought to look past the fact that the list of guests contained members of the same sex. 

There was an obvious age difference in each of the couples. Q had seen it in his brief glance at the dinner table. 009 and 007 were around the same age, and looked it. It wouldn’t work, their cover would be completely blown. 

“Q--”

“Not now,” Q said as calm as possible. “Working.”

“We can make this work.” Q snorted, unable to stop himself from scoffing as he bought himself a plane ticket. “We can figure out another way.” Tanner walked in as Q muted his earpiece. 

“Tanner,” Q said, standing up. “I’ve just bought myself a ticket.”

“Are you sure?” Tanner asked, looking at the screen. 

Q unmuted his earpiece. “007, show Tanner what you showed me.” The guests came into view, and Tanner remained quiet as he nodded his head, looking at Q. 

“You’re sure?” Tanner asked. 

“Sure of what?” Bond interjected. “Q, you’re not--”

“007,” Q said, silencing Bond with his cutting tone. 

“Unless you send in one of my assistants, you aren’t going to find an agent who would fit the bill.” 

“Sending you in is a risk,” Tanner said. “There has to be another way. You aren’t some assistant, Q-”

“But I am the most capable,” Q pointed out. His hands were shaking, thinking about going undercover. This wasn’t like before, this wasn’t simply handing Bond information. 

“Absolutely not,” Bond said. Q took out his earpiece, holding it in his hand as he stepped closer to Tanner. 

“It will be alright,” Q said. “Bond won’t let anything happen to me,” he heard himself saying. “I’ve already bought the ticket.”

“We need to inform M.” 

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Q said, his lips pursed. “I’m on the next flight out.” 

-

Q arrived in the middle of the night. He’d barely had time to pack, let alone feed his cats and give Moneypenny access to his flat so they wouldn’t starve. He rarely left town, and they tended to start clawing at the furniture when left alone for too long. 

After not sleeping for close to twenty-four hours, Q collapsed onto his hotel bed. It connected to Bond’s, but he hadn’t unlocked his side of the door as yet. A knock at the door had Q sitting up in bed, dazed. He’d forgotten where he was for a moment. 

“Coming,” Q said as he made his way over to the connecting door, opening it to find Bond standing there in something other than a suit. Q blinked multiple times, in awe, before stepping aside so Bond could enter. He was in a pair of soft looking, faded jeans and a Henley, which also looked soft. 

“I’ve a mind to scold you,” Bond said as Q shut the door behind him. “You’re not a field agent.” 

“And you’re not my boss, last I checked,” Q quipped as he started to take off his jacket; he was still wearing it despite his impromptu nap. A glance at the clock showed that he hadn’t been asleep all that long, maybe thirty minutes or so. He could barely keep his eyes open. “Really, Bond, as the situation presented itself, I’m the best bet we have.” 

“009 and I could have figured it out,” Bond said. “Just because you meet some sort of physical criteria doesn’t mean--”

“It means exactly that,” Q persisted, stepping closer to Bond. “The room was made up entirely of older men and their kept boys, Bond,” Q said with the tilt of his head. “And I look like a kept boy, you’ve said so yourself on multiple occasions.”

Bond sighed, closing his eyes in frustration. 

Q bit his lip. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ve been in these clothes since yesterday morning, and I’d like to shower.” 

“Of course,” Bond said. 

“We’ll talk after, we need to debrief and go through the plan.” 

“The plan?” Bond asked as Q started to take off his shoes and socks. 

“Yes, well,” Q said as he pulled at his jumper, stripping down to his undershirt. “I had time on the plane to go through everything, didn’t I?” 

With that, he went to shower. 

Knowing that Bond was there, in his rooms, waiting for him gave way to an interesting shower. Q was of a healthy mind and body, his usual time alone consisted of a stroke in the shower to relieve tension, but with Bond in the other room it wasn’t the time or place. Of course, his body didn’t care. It was a sort of pavlovian response, in a way, when he stepped under the spray. He ignored it; there wasn’t time. The faster they talked, the faster Q could grab a few hours of sleep, which he needed. 

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he emerged from the steam filled bathroom with his glasses in his hands. He could barely see as he made his way over to his small suitcase, rummaging through it for clean pants and his pyjamas, his hair dripping wet still. 

He thought about going back into the bathroom, but thought it a bit juvenile. They were both adults, and clearly Bond has seen his fair share of arses. Q dressed in front of Bond, turned away from him for a little bit of dignity. Not wearing his specs helped in a way, gave him a false sense of security. He put his specs on last, after his jumper. When he turned around, Bond wasn’t even looking at him, but at his phone. It was for the best, really, for Bond to be no longer be interested in him.

As he approached, though, Q noticed that the tips of Bond’s ears were pink. If he didn’t know Bond, and he liked to think that he did, he’d say that Bond had been embarrassed, or turned on. But Bond didn’t get embarrassed, he didn’t blush. If anything, Bond was the most stoic person Q knew, his face a stone wall when he wanted it to be. Sure, he joked and smirked when he was amused, but he could drop those things within a blink of an eye. Bond allowed Q to see those things; he shared them with him, much like Q did the same with Bond. He didn’t tease other double-ohs, he didn’t tell them horrible jokes that amused him. In fact, Q knew he was quite cold to the others, putting distance between himself and them. Their relationship was professional, whereas his and Bond’s, well. 

“Let me grab my tablet,” Q stated unnecessarily. Bond followed him to his messenger bag, where he pulled out both his laptop and tablet. He looked around the room, hoping for a table with two chairs or a couch. Of course, there was none. He was in a room with two queen beds. So he sat, leaving enough room for Bond beside him. 

Their thighs touched as James sat beside him, encroaching into Q’s space as he looked over Q’s shoulder. He could feel James’ breath on his neck as he logged in remotely, pulling up the notes he’d made. Q tried not to move his head because Bond was mere centimetres from him. He blinked, trying to think rationally; Bond made it difficult. 

“I was able to identify a few of the guests, and my assumptions were correct,” Q said, leaning towards Bond so he could see better, even though he was quite sure Bond could see fine before. Only now, Q’s shoulder leaned against Bond’s, contact made along Q’s side and back. 

“What assumptions?” Bond asked, his breath ghosting across Q’s neck. Q tried not to shiver as his fingers slid across the tablet. 

“That they are kept boys,” Q said, turning his head to meet James’ gaze. He immediately regretted the action, because James’ eyes were hooded, his gaze on Q’s lips. It took all of his self control to turn away from him, then, and go back to the task at hand. “It seems like the list is of rather influential men of multiple nationalities, all in the closet of course, high ranking within their governments, but they seem to meet a few times a year with their lovers. You’d think it would be a little more hush hush, but--”

“Tanner mentioned that this wasn’t a writ,” Bond said, leaning on one hand so that his chest was against Q’s back, his hand splayed on the bed at Q’s other side. Q closed his eyes as Bond’s nose trailed across the back of his neck. “That they were to be brought back alive.”

“Yes,” Q said with a shuddering breath. “For questioning. It’s-- there’s evidence of sex slavery,” Q swallowed. “And I pushed for them to be brought in, because as a gay man, I’d hate the world to paint such a vile picture--” Q swallowed, his hands shaking because he’d said it, finally. He told Bond, as if he hadn’t known before right then. “I thought that if, somehow, I could prove that it wasn’t this group, that they were innocent-- that it wouldn’t come out that-- that--”

“Q, it’s alright,” Bond said, laying a hand on Q’s shoulder. “You don’t need to explain to me. I understand completely. Sometimes, most of the times, people do horrible things, not because of their sexuality or race, but sometimes that’s all that people see, in the end. I’ll get to the bottom of this, I can promise you that.” 

Q looked at Bond, searching his eyes. 

“If it’s true, if these people are connected to sex trade, I want them to burn,” Q whispered. “I want them taken down.” 

“I can promise you that, too,” Bond said, lips brushing against Q’s shoulder, but nothing more. “Now, tell me your plan before you collapse onto the bed from sheer exhaustion.” 

“I’m fine,” Q said, his eyes closing for a little too long for his words to hold any meaning. It was a fight to keep them open. “The plan is, of course, that I’m going to be yours, that you’re--”

“James Bond, international spy who is in the closet--”

“No,” Q said, his eyes narrow. “Bond, this is undercover.” 

“Do you think these people won’t know who I am?” 

“These people, Bond, don’t run in the same circles--”

“Q, you’re a genius, surely you realise that these people are going to be just as connected as any other syndicate.” 

“If that’s true, then this entire thing is futile.” 

“Is it?” Bond asked. “I don’t think it is. If they are meeting because their lives are a secret, what makes you think that I couldn’t be searching for the same thing.”

Q pinched his nose, sighing. “Do you expect me to tell them who I am, too?” 

“Of course not,” Bond said. “Last thing we need is for the world to know that a secret agent has the Quartermaster not only under his thumb, but in his bed.”

“You’re awfully presumptuous. I’m not under your thumb, 007.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Q,” Bond said, his hand on Q’s lower back, the motion was so casual that Q barely registered it. Bond was being rather tactile with him, and Q wasn’t used to the affection from anyone. It made him crave more of it. 

“So,” Q said, clearing his throat. It was becoming more and more difficult to remain alert. “We’ve got to act like a couple in love, who rarely gets to be together.” 

“I don’t think that will be a problem, do you?” Bond asked, lips dangerously close to Q’s. Q didn’t take the bait, turning his head away. He was being a tease, he knew it, but he wasn’t ready to give in to Bond’s whims, mission or no. 

“The problem will be getting me into an office, I need access to their computer system directly. If I could do it remotely, I would, but they’ve got everything on lockdown. Whoever they have, they’re good.” 

“Like Silva?” Bond asked.

Q gave him a look. “Like me.” 

-

Q woke up underneath the covers. He hadn’t remembered getting into bed properly, but judging by the fact that James was there beside him, he deduced exactly how he’d gotten there. 

“Bollocks,” Q said as he stretched. His head was fuzzy from lack of sleep; he needed tea and to go to the loo. Instead, he reached out towards Bond, who was shirtless currently, and shoved at him lightly. “Bond, wake up.” Bond jerked, his head turning towards Q, his eyes alert despite being woken up. “Why are you in my bed?” Q asked. 

“Mine was far,” Bond said, sitting up, looking Q over. “Nothing happened.” 

“I wasn’t-- I didn’t think it had,” Q said, frowning as Bond got out of bed; he only had his pants on, tight and form fitting boxer briefs. Q shut his eyes as he rubbed at them; he’d fallen asleep with his specs on. Fortunately for him, they were unable to be bent. After ruining several pairs, Q had made his own. 

Somehow, in the morning light, Q found it more difficult to come to terms with how intimate they’d acted the night before. Bond had touched him, they’d leaned on each other and their had been lips, Bond’s mouth dangerously close to his own. Even though they’d kissed before, somehow the ‘almost’ affected him more than the actual act, like Bond wanted him but held himself back. 

Q didn’t want to think about it. It was inconsequential next to the task at hand. They had a mission to accomplish, and Q was determined to follow it through. 

“It’s a lovely day,” Bond said, standing by the window. He’d opened it, looking at the beautiful scenery around them. Q scowled. “We should get breakfast.” 

“You’re impossible,” Q said as he shoved the sheets away from himself. “We’ve got work to do.” 

“There’s time to eat,” Bond said. “When was the last time you ate?” 

“I’ll have a croissant, better yet, a cup of tea.”

“One can’t live off of tea alone, Q.”

“I disagree completely,” Q said as he walked into the loo, slamming the door behind him. Bond was incorrigible. If anything, they should order in and go over their plan for that night. They shouldn’t go gallivanting around Barcelona, not when Bond was so high profile.

In the end, Q allowed Bond to take him out to breakfast. It was quaint, on a veranda, with an umbrella overhead and was the epitome of picturesque. 

“This is a little much, don’t you think?” Q asked as he sipped sparkling water. They didn’t have tea. Well, they did, but it wasn’t his usual earl grey. He tried not to act forlorn about it. 

“I find it-- adorable,” Bond said, smirking at Q. “I think it fits our story, don’t you? Me treating my kept boy to a fine breakfast.” Q almost spit his water out, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he tried not to inhale the water incorrectly. 

“You are just--”

“Charming is the word you’re looking for, I’m sure."

“You’re something,” Q mumbled. “I hope you realise that we are going to be walking into a trap.” 

“I don’t think so,” Bond said, folding his hands above the table, his legs spread wide underneath the tablecloth while Q sat with one leg crossed over the other, pouring the poor excuse for tea from the pot into a cup. Q took his time adding a dash of cream and sugar. After tasting it, he made a face, adding more sugar. 

“They over steeped it,” he complained, but still sipped at it. “I wish they’d let me steep it myself, honestly.” 

Bond watched him with rapt attention. Q ignored him, his eyes narrowing as he watched people walk by, going about their days. 

“I can’t seem to get a grasp on you,” Bond said. 

“In what respect?” Q asked him as he sat back in his chair. 

“We flirt almost constantly, we kissed, and yet you run hot and cold.”

“Perhaps that’s because you have quite a history, and I’m attempting to run from it,” Q said, folding his hands in his lap. If they were going to talk about it, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. Q licked his lips, looking Bond in the eye. “If this mission goes well, if we bring the sex ring down and survive, maybe-- just maybe, James.” 

“I’d rather you safe in London than here with me,” Bond said. 

“You need me,” Q said. “You won’t get in the door without me.” 

“There are other ways, I could be a waiter, or a chauffeur, or a bodyguard. 009 and I would have found a way in. Now, not only do I have to make sure you’re brought back safely to MI6, but I have to also obtain Soler, a high-profile mogel who surely won’t come easily.” 

“With proof,” Q added in. “But you forget: I’m not so fragile. I can take care of myself. If you get me to a computer, this will all be over quickly.” 

“If you say so,” Bond said. “Evasion, though, doesn’t become you. I’ve never been a fan of the chase.” 

“Somehow I highly doubt the truthfulness of that statement, Bond,” Q said, smirking. “I think that’s your favourite part.” 

-

Q didn’t have a suit, the clothes he’d packed had been deemed unsuitable for the evening’s festivities. Q was positive that James enjoyed every second of Q being doted on as he was measured and made to try on multiple suits as James watched. 

“There isn’t time for it to be tailored,” James said, looking at his watch; a replica of the one that Q had made him. Q rolled his eyes as he stood in front of a mirror. This was his fifth he’d tried on and he’d had just about enough of it. “This one looks the best on you so far. Really, Q, you’d look good in a bespoke--”

“This is not-- Bond--” Q said in protest when he saw the pricetag. 

“Work expense,” Bond said as he stood up, buttoning his waistcoat, then jacket, winking at Q. Q sputtered, beginning to take off the jacket that cost as much as his flat’s monthly rent. 

“This is ridiculous,” Q said as he stepped out of the trousers, standing in the private dressing room in his pants and button-up shirt. “I can’t fathom-- I don’t want to know how much you spend a year on suits.” 

“No, you really don’t,” James said. “You change, I’ll be right back.” With that, James left Q alone in the dressing room to change back into his normal ensemble. When Q emerged, his new suit was zipped safely in a travel bag, along with a small bag that held their ties and cufflinks for Q. 

“Don’t say I never got you anything,” James said with a smile, leaning forward. Q stilled for a moment before he realised what James wanted him to do: kiss him in public. Q smiled, though it was as faux as the paint treatment on the walls, before kissing him on the lips. Q lingered, though their mouths were closed, his hand cupping Bond’s face. 

“I feel like that should be my line,” Q said, looking Bond in the eye as he stepped back. 

“You always give me exactly what I need,” Bond said, making the corner of Q’s mouth quirk upwards. “Shall we?” Bond asked, extending his arm for Q to take. Q almost didn’t take it on principle alone, but the ruse wasn’t really a ruse to begin with, so he took it. If Bond weren’t 007, and if he weren’t Quartermaster, perhaps whatever there was between them could be real, but rationally Q knew better. 

Bond was a notorious rake, moving from bed to bed, and Q was most definitely the opposite. He and Bond had similarities, such as not being able to trust people, but unlike Bond, Q had a hard time even trusting someone enough to be intimate with them. Bond didn’t seem to have that issue.

-

“I look ridiculous,” Q said as he knotted his tie. His hair was more kempt than he normally wore it, with product and everything. He hated it. 

“I can assure you, you don’t,” James said beside him as he pulled at his sleeves from beneath his jacket. Q watched as James’ eyes raked up and down his frame. Q didn’t even have the jacket on yet and James looked as though he wanted to rip it off of him. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get ruined tonight -- it would be a shame.” 

Q ran his fingers through his hair in disgust before giving up and putting his jacket on. It was lightweight, felt comfortable enough, but he definitely felt like he wasn’t in his own skin. He liked trousers with jumpers, he liked his own shoes, which were set aside for shiny black ones that didn’t look right on him. 

Of course he’d worn suits before, gone to benefits when he was asked by MI6, but this was something completely different. This was Q going into the field, undercover, trying to find evidence of a sex ring. Q felt his own chest tighten as James turned Q towards him. 

“It will be alright,” Bond said. “The key is to be confident.”

“Right,” Q said. 

“I’m serious, Q. If you act the way you normally do when I come visit you, then you’ll do fine. Pretend you’re in your element. I need you to act like the Q who knows exactly what he’s doing, who can hack anything, who built a three million dollar car--”

“That you sank,” Q interjected.

“That I sank,” Bond said, smiling at him. “Can you do that for me?”

“You don’t want me meek, or some sort of lap boy?” Q asked. 

“Of course not,” Bond stated, looking from Q’s eyes to his lips. “I want you to be yourself tonight, as much as possible.”

“Why?” Q asked. 

“Because that way it will be more realistic, I won’t have to pretend, that way.” 

“We are pretending, Bond,” Q pointed out. 

“I wasn’t planning on pretending to have feelings for you,” Bond said, running his index and middle fingers across Q’s cheek. “Why change how I already feel when that’s already perfectly adequate. The only false-- the only thing is that it’s unrequited.” 

“What makes you say that?” Q asked in a whisper. 

“Because I’m sure that if you felt the way I do, then we would have done more than simply kiss by this point.” 

Q kissed him, pulling Bond closer to him by his waistcoat. James’ mouth opened to his as their bodies pressed together. Q shut his eyes tight, enjoying the feel of Bond’s hands on his back, cupping his arse. Q moaned into his mouth, deepening the kiss. When they broke apart, Q’s breath shook. 

“I told you,” Q said, kissing him again. “After.” Bond’s nose bumped against his, their eyes closing. “I’m not ready to give in to you just yet.” 

“I’m not patient.” 

“I know,” Q said, kissing him again. Bond responded by kissing a line down Q’s neck, sucking. “Bond--”

“It will help,” Bond said, keeping Q close as he mouthed at him. “I promise.” 

“I highly doubt that marking me-- oh,” Q said as he ran his fingers through Bond’s close cropped hair. 

“For Queen and country,” Bond said, cupping Q’s arse before straightening his tie. He looked Q over as well, smiling as Q, too, looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was in disarray, his lips red and swollen. He wiped at his mouth, then attempted to do something with his hair. He tilted his head to the side, noticing the mark that Bond had left for all to see. He certainly looked the part that he needed to play. 

-

Upon arrival, they were given champagne and introduced to so many couples that Q had a hard time keeping any of them straight. Bond had his arm around Q almost every second, which Q appreciated considering, as he looked around, that it seemed to be the norm. If anything, he and Bond were the tamest in terms of the public displays of affection that were happening around the room. There was a very distinct age difference between the couples, and 007 and 009 would have stood out as sore thumbs if they had continued with their original plans. 

Q and Bond both wore earpieces, with Tanner on the other end to help facilitate in any way he could. If anything, it made Q more nervous knowing that Tanner and possibly M himself were listening in. He didn’t know how Bond handled it, with Q in his ear all of the time. 

“There seem to be a few computers nearby,” Tanner said over the earpiece. Q, unused to the earpieces, touched his ear. Bond scowled at him, moving Q’s hand out of the way and cupped his face as a feint. 

“Don’t touch your ear,” Bond said, kissing Q on the forehead. Q glared at him, but his face dropped into an easy smile after a second, leaning into the kiss, playing it up. 

“I’m going to the loo,” Q said, downing the rest of his champagne. 

“Of course,” Bond said, looking around the room. 

As Q walked away from him, he tried not to look conspicuous. He gave his empty champagne flute to a waiter who walked around with a tray before heading out of the dining area that they had been standing around. 

“How close by?” Q asked in a hushed tone.

“Should be behind one of the doors right by you,” Tanner said into his ear. 

“Let me know if you need me, Q,” Bond said before he started a conversation around him. Q tried to block Bond out, his voice a distraction as he opened two doors, then a third, in hopes for there to be a library or an office behind them. He found the loo, but quickly moved on. 

Finally, Q stumbled across it. He sat down at the computer, taking out a USB he’d had in his pocket. His hands weren’t shaking, but he was sweating a little bit, his lips pursed as he waited for his program to take control of the computer. 

“I’m in,” Q said, typing as fast as he could, copying as many files as possible. His leg bounced as he watched the files being transferred. “There’s quite a bit. Tanner I’m uploading them directly so you can see this. It seems as though he has--” 

Q stopped talking as footsteps approached, echoing in the hallway.

“Q?” Bond asked. 

“Third room on the right,” Q whispered. “I have to leave the USB. Come retrieve it.” 

“Q, don’t--”

Q got up, his heart rate skyrocketing, fingers moving quickly to darken the screen. He hid in the shadows of the room before ducking into a doorway that led somewhere else just as the door he’d come into opened up. Q moved swiftly down a hallway he didn’t recognise. He couldn’t think about leaving the USB, because he’d almost been found out. By the looks of it, he’d dodged not only an actual bullet, but the host of the party, Soler, was known for making people who crossed him disappear into his sex rings, never to be found. 

They had to get out, fast. 

“Q, where are you?” Bond asked over the earpiece. 

“I don’t know,” Q hissed. 

“I’ve got the evidence here,” Tanner said. “I need you to bring Soler in, if possible. If not, get out now.” 

“Q, get out of there,” Bond said. Q didn’t need to be told twice, though his sense of direction was thrown by the route he had taken. He made sure that his pacing was normal, even though all he wanted to do was run. He didn’t want to stand out in a crowd, so to speak. He made his way back to the dining area, taking an appetiser from a tray and a flute of champagne, gulping it down so it was half finished. 

He found a place to sit down, but decided against it. Around him, no one seemed to notice that something was off about him, but he felt paranoid all the same that he stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“I’ve got the USB,” Bond said in Q’s ear. “Head for the car.” 

“On it,” Q said, finishing the champagne. He handed the empty glass over to a waiter before walking out into the hallway once more, turning towards the front door. Out of the corner of his eye Q saw that he was being followed by two men, security. He could run for it, but thought better of it. They would catch up to him either way, and he’d rather not go down a coward if he could help it. 

“Bond,” Q said in a whisper. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave without me.” 

“What?” Bond said, as Q was grabbed around the arms. He fought, but it was futile, because their grip was harsh. 

“There’s really no need to be so damned brutish,” Q hissed. “I’m quite capable of walking.” Neither of them said a word as they led Q into the depths of the villa, past the party. Through his earpiece, he could hear Bond breathing, but nothing else. He wasn’t so sure it was comforting, knowing that Bond was running either towards or away from him. 

They brought Q into a dark room that looked to be part of a library, judging by the number of books. Q was forced into a chair, but wasn’t restrained. He put his hands in his lap and waited, their hands on his shoulder, keeping him in place. 

Q reminded himself that Tanner had the evidence, that even if Q were taken and sent into the ring, that he would be found. Maybe. 

He hoped that James would think of something. The only thing that Q could do, if he thought they were about to drug him, would be to use his watch, which he outfitted with a bomb. He didn’t want it to come to that, of course. He valued his life. 

Soler walked into the room after what felt like an hour of silence. With him he had his kept boy at his side, who looked closer to underage than over. Q squirmed. He knew he looked younger than he was, but there was something in the boy’s eyes, a certain amount of deadness that could only come from seeing too much of the world too soon. 

He’d really and truly hoped that the evidence would point away from Soler, but now that the bastard was right in front of Q, he wanted him dead. The watch seemed like a viable option. 

“Matthew, isn’t it?” Soler asked him. Q’s eyebrows rose at the use of his real name, the one that had been redacted on all of his MI6 paperwork... not even M knew it. “Matthew Ainsworth,” Soler said as he stepped closer, lifting Q’s chin. “You thought you could hide, but I’ve been watching you climb your way to the top of MI6.” 

“Should I feel flattered?” Q asked him, his jaw clenched. 

“Yes,” Soler said. “I never thought that I’d have you for myself, though.” 

“Q, give me time,” Bond said into his ear. “Hold on.” 

Q sat up straighter, his shoulders squared with his eyes narrowed in on Soler. 

“My price is high,” Q said, as if he could be bought. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll fetch me a pretty penny,” Soler said as he ran his thumb over Q’s bottom lip. “Your companion, the one you came here with, he’ll be dead soon, in case you thought the cavalry would come for you.” 

“009 is on the way,” Tanner said low. “Keep him talking, Q.” 

“How do you do it?” Q asked. 

“You’ll see soon enough,” Soler said, tugging at Q’s hair. “Normally, I would have you for myself first, but I think that you’re too valuable to remain here.” Q pushed at him, struggling as he was forced to his knees, head bent down so he could see nothing but the floor. Behind him, a gun was cocked. Q’s body shook, unaware if it was Bond or one of the security guards. 

“Move and you die.” Q didn’t move, didn’t flinch, as a bag was put over his head. “Go.”

Q couldn’t see a thing as he was pushed and shoved into the boot of a car, his hands tied behind his back. Once the boot was shut, he groaned. 

“I’m in a bloody car,” Q panted. “Bond, do you hear me?” 

“Yes, Q,” Bond said as he shot his gun. “I’m a bit busy.” 

“Fuck,” Q said as he maneuvered himself, trying to kick out one of the tail lights. “Tanner: update?” 

“009 is en route.” 

“Let’s hope the idiots driving are reckless enough that it’s obvious who’s taken me, then,” Q grumbled. “I’d like not to be sold off to the highest bidder.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Bond said. “I’ve got eyes on you, in pursuit.” 

“Don’t shoot me,” Q said as casually as he could muster, despite the fact that his chest was heaving. 

“I’d never,” Bond joked. All Q could hear was the sound of engines and the bumps and turns as he was driven around at high speeds. “I’ll give you a warning, first.” 

“Oh, good,” Q said with a laugh. “At least there’s that.”

“009 is in pursuit of Soler,” Tanner said. “Bond, do you still have eyes on Q?” 

“Yes,” Bond said. “But I’m in a shitty rental car.” 

“Next time we’ll travel more prepared,” Q said as he closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. “Just don’t lose sight of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Even in times of crisis, Bond kept his humour. Q was usually able to, as well, while he was Bond’s handler, but that was when he was out of danger, when he wasn’t in the thick of it. All in all, Q thought he was doing a rather good job of remaining calm, considering. 

“Are you still with me?” Bond asked. Q hadn’t realised some time had passed since he’d spoken. 

“Yes,” Q said, his voice shakier than he’d wanted it to be. 

“Do me a favour,” Bond said. “Try to take your watch off, ready it. When they pull you out of the car, leave it there. It should create a diversion.” 

“And if they don’t get me out in a timely fashion?” Q asked, knowing the answer. After all, he’d designed the watch. He knew exactly what it did. Bond didn’t answer him, the silence over the comms hanging heavy between them. 

“I’m going to force them to stop,” Bond said. “Hold on tight.” 

“Hold on to what, James?” Q asked, shouting as the car jerked to the side; James had hit the back of it, sending it spinning. “Bloody fuck!” 

The car stopped abruptly, sending Q into the back of the boot, where he hit his head. 

“Q?” Bond asked. 

“I’m alive,” Q said weakly. “I think.” 

Gunshots rang out as the boot was opened. As Q was pulled to his feet, he dropped the watch into the boot, leaving it as he was dragged across the ground. He counted in his head, keeping track of the passage of time instead of concentrating on the fact that it wasn’t James who pulled him out of the car. 

The explosion wasn’t big, but it certainly got their attention. Q kneed one of them, head butting the other before he was tackled to the ground. Unable to see, he couldn’t do much else but kick outwards. He stilled after he was kicked in the stomach, the pain unbearable. 

“We should just kill you now,” one of them said. 

“You can’t be worth all this trouble.”

“Oh, he is,” James said before he pulled the trigger above Q. Q flinched both times as he heard the gunshots, the bodies hitting the ground. When Bond pulled off the hood, Q blinked up at him, taking in the view. Bond’s head was bleeding, and he was out of breath as he dropped the black hood to the ground. James got to his knees, helping Q untie his wrists. As soon as they were free, Q wrapped his arms around James, who did the same, though he still held his gun in his right hand. 

“Fuck,” Q said. “I don’t think I care much for field work.” 

“I think you’d do better behind a desk, if only for my own sanity.” 

“Soler?” Q asked as Bond helped him to his feet. 

“Obtained,” Tanner said over the comms. “Glad to hear you’re alright, Q.” 

“Does M know?” 

“Yes, he’s here with me now.” 

Well, then. Q straightened his tie, for something to do with his hands, as Bond checked Q over for injuries. Besides a sore stomach and bruised wrists, Q thought he was alright. 

“Good job, gentlemen,” M said as he got on the comms. “I want you back as soon as possible for a debrief.”

“Yes, sir,” Bond said. 

“Oh, and Q?” 

“Sir?” Q asked as Bond stepped closer to him, putting his arm around Q’s waist. 

“Next time, perhaps asking for permission would be best?”

“I couldn’t agree more, Sir.” 

-

After a long bath, Q felt immeasurably better. His stomach was bruised, but he didn’t think he was bleeding internally, nothing was distended or out of the ordinary besides the fact that he’d been kicked, and it wasn’t just the one time.

James walked into the bathroom without knocking, a drink in hand, whiskey neat, to which he offered Q a sip. Q had been leaning back in the tub, but splashed forwards, reaching for it as he hid himself in a half cocked attempt at privacy. It got him a smirk as James sat on the edge of the tub, his hand going to the back of Q’s head as he sipped the whiskey. He didn’t make a face, but internally he disliked the taste. 

“How are you doing?” James asked. 

“Positively delightful,” Q sneered into the glass. “Can’t wait to tell psych all about it. No need to worry yourself tonight, though.” 

“You were kidnapped,” Bond pointed out. “Held at gunpoint.” 

“Thank you for the reminder,” Q said as he sighed, leaning in to Bond’s touch as he ran his fingers through Q’s hair. “But I’ll have you know that I’ll probably sleep soundly after this.”

“Will you, now?” Bond asked him. 

“Yes,” Q said as he looked up at him. “Because after the sex we’re going to have, I plan on passing out.” 

-

They kissed for a not inconsiderable amount of time, mapping each other’s mouths with their tongues. Q couldn’t stop touching James, keeping him close as James fucked him into the mattress as they lay chest to chest. With knees bent, Q raked his fingers down Bond’s back, moaning with each thrust. He tilted his head back, exposing his neck for Bond to mark as he wished. 

In the morning, Q was sore all over, contentedly so. As they dressed, Q couldn’t help but notice the fact that his entire neck was bruised, James’ marks stark against his pale skin. Q found that he quite liked it, and judging by James possessively kissing him, he did as well. 

Once they were back at MI6, though, Q wore a scarf until he got to medical. 

All in all, Q made it through his psych evaluation until the end, when they asked a prying question in regards to 007. 

“I don’t see how that’s anyone’s business,” Q said, hands in his lap. They’d asked him about his relationship with Bond, rather outright. Q knew he was being watched by M, possibly Tanner, and that he needed to watch his tone. A piece of paper was slid across the table, towards him. Q picked it up, scanning over it before his shoulders relaxed. 

Bond had filled out an HR form to officially state a relationship. Q smiled to himself, setting the paper down. 

“Why ask if you knew the answer?” 

“Do you believe that you’ll be able to continue working side by side with him?”

“I should hope so,” Q said. “As Quartermaster, I’d dare say that I would keep my relationship with him strictly professional while at work.” 

After Q was dismissed, he found Bond in his office, sitting at Q’s desk. 

“A form, Bond, really?” 

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” James asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Well, yes,” Q said. “But that didn’t mean I thought I’d get it. I thought that--”

“I had you under my thumb but that I wasn’t under yours?” 

“Precisely,” Q said as James stood up, cupping his face with his hands. Q closed his eyes as James kissed him on the lips. 

“You have me, Q. I told you, I had time to think after everything, and as long as it’s not for a mission, I’m yours.” 

“That’s more than I thought I could ask for,” Q murmured against Bond’s lips.


End file.
